


Can I Get Witcha?

by ViciousInnocence



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual!Dennis, Clubbing, Drinking, Flirting, M/M, Mac and Dennis are strangers, Mildly Dubious Consent, One Night Stands, Rating just in case, clubbing AU, repressed homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousInnocence/pseuds/ViciousInnocence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac and Charlie go out clubbing, Dennis pulls Mac in a one-night stand. </p><p>Or; the clubbing AU nobody asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I Get Witcha?

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU TO BRANDYALEXANDERS FOR BETA-ING MY TERRIBLE GRAMMAR AND PUNCTUATION. I'm so ashamed at how many corrections there were.
> 
> Anyway; ENJOY.

Mac sits in the bar stool sipping on the last of his drink as he looks over to Charlie again. He’s surrounded by a bunch of chicks all touching some part of his body like he's an adorable puppy, laughing at his dumb jokes.

Mac had been in the bathroom for less than three minutes. That was all it had taken for the swarm of women in the club to mob Charlie; as if they had been waiting for Mac to leave him unguarded.

It always happened whenever he left Charlie alone. He had no idea why, but girl gangs found him absolutely adorable. Mac was a little envious and sometimes he thinks he wouldn't hate women so much if they didn't treat him like he was a piece of shit. As it stood though, watching these women putting their hands on Charlie, way over the border into his personal space, he felt irritated. Mac didn't like it when women tried to dance with them, especially when they clearly weren't interested in banging. These were meant to be Mac and Charlie's nights out.  
  
"Unbelievable," Mac hears himself mumble as he raises his glass, watching them all burst out in a fit of giggles over the music, pulling the thin straw back into his mouth with his tongue, sucking up the ice cold rum amongst the clear cubes. He was way too sober to deal with this; Charlie had also drank most of his beers before they'd left his apartment, the selfish asshole.

Mac's empty glass clinks against the bar surface as he lowers his hand and casually scopes the room to pass the time. There's a pretty even ratio of men and women in this club, which is good. The two sexes seem to be remaining relatively separate too, aside from those dumb chicks huddled round Charlie. Girls are dancing with girls, guys sticking with guys; which is even better. There's also a couple grinding against each other up near the speakers but given that they're the only ones he can see it's not so bad. There's no pressure for once, like there usually is inside the club, for Mac and Charlie to try and dance with women, which means those girls can get lost as soon as Mac's finished his next drink.

He's pretty sure neither of them ever really want to dance with chicks anyway. Mainly because they both give up trying too soon, merely shrugging off the inevitable rejection from girls. All too eager just to dance with each other and drink spirits from Mac's hip-flask in the bathroom. He’s aware most guys his age treat clubs as a hunting ground, but Mac's never really seen it that way. While he’s never _really_ been a big part of the clubbing scene, he has always primarily found clubs are great places to drink too much and dance like an idiot, maybe huff some glue or halve a pill with Charlie beforehand and get lost in the lights and the bass. 

He's pulled out of his thoughts as he takes in his view, wonders why they've never come here before. The place is much cleaner than their usual choice, brighter too; more colourful. Rainbows of coloured light fly around the room, hitting the silver dance floor.  
  
Mac does a double take in his surveillance of the room. Someone's staring right at him from a stool on the edge of the dance floor, at one of the nearby tables. The second the trio of girls catches Mac's eyes on them, they all whisper behind their hands. Probably talking shit about him; stupid bitches. This is another reason why he doesn't like women – they're so two-faced.  
  
He realises he's staring and quickly turns away, rubbing the back of his head nervously. He suddenly feels like running to hide with Charlie. He doesn't particularly want to be around all those gross girls, stinking of perfume and vodka, tottering in their high heels, shrieking and flipping their hair; white girl wasted. Mac knows they'll leave when he gets near them anyway, because he seems to have that effect on women. Charlie says it's because he's an asshole. Still, he finds the thought of having any interaction with a large group of women off-putting. Not that he's scared, it's almost like he can't be bothered, they just annoy him. In any case, he can't sit here any longer. He had only settled here after the bathroom so he could sneak more spirits into his glass from behind the bar when the staff weren't looking. Yet even the stolen alcohol hadn’t been enough to get him nicely drunk.  
  
"Excuse me," he shouts over the noise of the anthem playing overhead, trying to get the attention of the bartender in the middle of their relatively busy service.  
  
"Another drink?" He yells again, leaning forward in his seat this time and holding up his glass.  
  
"Here; lemme get that for ya," a smooth voice sounds to his left, making Mac jump a little. He turns to see a dark-haired man up close to his left, smiling at him. Objectively speaking; he’s pretty handsome.  
  
Mac realises he’s staring again. Out of nervous reaction he laughs, feeling his cheeks burning again under pressure. The other man merely raises an eyebrow at his unusual behaviour, secretly thinking that it’s a tiny bit adorable, and slips into the bar stool to his left, smoothly fishing his wallet out of his jeans.  
  
"Whatcha drinking?" He asks, flashing his hand up under the bar lights, holding up a couple of notes in-between two long delicate fingers.  
  
Mac looks at the money, then back to the other’s eyes.  
  
"Really?" He asks eagerly, shocked and excited that this stranger was willing to pay for his drinks.  
  
The guy next to him wrinkles his face up in confused amusement,  
  
"Yeah man, of course," he says, a light tone of humour in his voice as if his reply was obvious.  
  
Mac feels giddy like a teenager at the prospect of being gifted free alcohol, even if it’s from someone he just met. What about Charlie though? Wouldn't he want to get in on this? He leans back a little in his chair and looks out in the direction of his shorter friend. He sees him sat down now in a booth, flanked on either side by the same gang of young women. They're all still smiles and drunken laughter. Mac feels himself pout a little seeing Charlie so keen on having a good time without him.  
  
"Double rum and coke," Mac says loudly over the music, leaning back in his seat, returning his attention to the man next to him. He sees a flash of happiness in the others blue eyes as he takes him up on his offer, before he leans halfway across the bar surface and instantly flags down a bartender to take his order. Mac can't really understand why a dude would want to pay for another dude’s drinks, but he guesses some people are just loaded and can afford to do random acts of kindness.  
  
Mac takes this time while his new companion is paying to take in his appearance. The guy is roughly the same age as him; and from the look of the shirt and jeans he's wearing he's not a club rat. But that's ok, neither is Mac. Honestly, it’s kind of refreshing to see another man similar to himself, not so much Charlie, in here.  He takes note of the smooth curls of the others dark hair, held in place with what looked like a lot of product, while still maintaining a soft appearance. Coincidentally that was what Mac had been into lately. Light streaks of gel, messy but styled back, letting a few strands of his black hair hang loose on his forehead.  
  
The man turned back round to face him, a drink in each hand, placing the rum in front of Mac, and sipping on his own drink of clear iced alcohol.  
  
"I like your hair, man."

Mac hears himself saying it and is hit by the fact that he's actually more tipsy now than he's been letting himself believe.

That was so gay, why would he talk about hair? Only dudes who were into dudes talked about their hair. Instantly he feels embarassed, grabbing his drink and pouring a large mouthful down his throat, holding back the straw.  
  
The other man preens a little, immodestly acknowledging his hair is perfectly styled.  
  
"Thanks. Glad someone can appreciate it."  
  
Mac relaxes a little at this reaction. He still drags more liquid into his mouth through the straw. For some reason he doesn't feel he's able to put the glass down. He suddenly feels nervous now he has this man’s full attention.

Now they're sat face to face, Mac can see the angular jawline and pink lips of his drinking partner, his eyes dark and inviting; women probably loved this guy.  
  
"So what's your name?" The man asks with a gentle smile, poking at ice using the straw in his glass with one hand and leaning the other arm delicately on the bar.  
  
"Mac," he instantly blurts out, before finding the straw back in his mouth, drinking down the rum out of nervous habit.

His drinking partner lets out a breath of laughter.  
  
"Mac? That's a cute name," he replies, causing Mac to bristle and sit up a little straighter in his seat, ready to defend his chosen nickname along with his masculinity. Before he gets the chance the other man continues,  
  
"Dennis," the man identifies himself, pointing lazily to his lips with the hand resting on the bar. It seems overly familiar to Mac but, as he knows nobody else by that name, he has no idea why.  
  
"Cool," he says, for some reason his mind suddenly absent of any intelligent conversation. His throat feels dry as they slowly drift into silence, almost expecting Dennis to recognise him for a burnout at any second and abandon him to pay for his own drinks. For some reason Mac doesn't feel like he should be allowed in this man’s presence. He has no idea why Dennis has even bothered to talk to him, he's clearly way above Mac’s league. That excites him and scares him just a little. Either way he's very nervous and without realising has downed the entire contents of his rum mixer already.  
  
He watches Dennis' eyes flicking down from his own to the empty glass. For what feels like the millionth time that night Mac wants to slap himself. Dennis is probably going to think he's a god damn alcoholic, which he is, but it's not cool and not something he wants Dennis to know about. Maybe now he’ll leave Mac alone to finish his anxiety attack in peace.  
  
"That went fast," Dennis bluntly states, Mac feels his heart rate quicken, waiting for the words of judgement and rejection. Instead, nimble fingers fish the thin straw from his clear mixer, as Dennis' other hand grips the glass;  
  
"That's what I like to see," he says, flashing him a grin that suggests they've been friends for much longer than five minutes before knocking back his drink, swallowing mouthful after mouthful until it’s all gone. Mac’s eyes trace over the other’s adams apple, bobbing in his throat, before he’s snapped out of his trance by the empty cup being smacked down on the bar, Dennis letting out a satisfied noise. Mac looks on in awe of surprise.  
  
"How about some shots?" He suggests, his eyebrows raised a little and Mac interprets the sudden dip in the pitch of his voice to be one purely of suggestive competition.  
  
"I uh- don't have a lot of money on me," Mac lies, flashing his best look of innocence that has got him out of a thousand situations before. Luckily Dennis just laughs. Though both of them are aware he's not telling the complete truth.  
  
"Don't worry baby, I'll get it," he says. Mac feels his cheeks flush. The other man turns back to the bar, clicking his fingers at a young man.  
  
"It's Mac," he mumbles quietly in confusion, watching the male bartender walking over with a weird sway to his hips.   
His gaze plays across the others high cheekbones, highlighted by the white glow from behind the bar. He wondered why Dennis had chosen to come and sit with him rather than pull any of the girls in here. A quick glance out the corner of his eye sees the girls who were staring at Mac before are now all staring openly at Dennis instead. At that, Mac’s heart swells with happiness at being chosen by Dennis. Mac almost felt bad about his plans to ditch him.  
  
Dennis turns back to him with a pleased look on his face,  
  
"They're bringing out a tray" he says, sitting back comfortably.

The two men make idle chat about small things like Philly and women with huge breasts. As they wait for the shots to arrive Mac suddenly feels the alcohol hit him, then next thing he knows the tray is plonked down in front of them and they've both done three straight off the bat. Mac isn't complaining, but he still feels weirdly nervous, although the more he drinks, the more its slowly turning into excitement, talking to Dennis and being in the club. He's pretty sure he'll be ready to dance soon, as his vision’s starting to get a little hazy. Some part of his brain is now saying that he should dance with Dennis. It only seems fair, he seems awesome and he paid for Mac’s drinks. The thought of it makes him glow with anticipation and nerves.  
  
"So...Mac..." He hears the man to the left of him begin talking again, though this time his hand slides across the bar, fingers loosely draped over Mac’s own,  
  
"What kind of guys are you usually into?" Dennis' voice purrs.

The hand on his hand and the question makes Mac feel hot. His eyes flicker down to the small amount of bodily contact between them, then back up again to Dennis' calm gaze underneath long lashes; he squeezes Mac's hand a little.  
  
"I-uh like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Predator?" he stutters out, because that had to be what Dennis meant. Just a second ago they had been talking about tits. The other man’s eyes flash with recognition, and Mac feels himself relax a little until Dennis speaks again.  
  
"Ah yeah, I can see that; cute twink like you."  
  
The words hit Mac like a brick wall. It makes sense now, Dennis is bisexual. He instantly notices he's sweating a little and stammering out a reply.  
  
"I'm not a twink, I'm more like a bear if anything," he hears himself say it and feels an internal rush of excitement and terror. All the bad thoughts that occasionally keep him awake at night are now rushing through his mind and he's not sure now if this is unholy flirting or defending his masculinity. Suddenly all those shots don't seem like a great idea; his judgement feels a little clouded, almost like he can't picture God or remember any psalms right now to guide him. That thought doesn't stop him from quickly grabbing one from the tray, knocking it back. He watches the others lips pull up into a smirk,  
  
"Relax, I'm into you."  
  
That does definitely not make Mac relax, he rips his hand away from under the other man’s touch. He feels like he's on fire, in fact, he probably is bright red. This is all too much at once and he feels ambushed.  
  
"I need to get back to Charlie," he mutters, kind of to himself, kind of excusing himself from Dennis, as he tries to stand up out of the stool. But he feels a firm pressure on his shoulder pushing him back down.  
  
"Charlie?" the other man asks and Mac can't say he likes how the name rolls off his tongue. Not really understanding why the hand on his shoulder feels so hot, he just nods in direction of the booth. Dennis turns his head,  
  
"You've been looking in that direction all night; is Charlie your boyfriend?" Dennis asks, and Mac can detect subtle undertones of disappointment in his voice. Mac feels his heart beat at that, knowing he's wanted. Dennis doesn't let go of Mac's shoulder.

He could just lie, say yes, then this would all be over. He can run away with Charlie, forget about ever meeting Dennis, and dance. But Mac's hit with a source of daring energy, drunk enough to feel like God isn't watching, like he can't see him in this dark little club.  
  
"No, I don't have a boyfriend," Mac almost feels like giggling, but he holds himself back, amazed he suddenly sounds so sure of himself. He feels giddy, like breaking the rules a little, forbidden flirting. Dennis turns back to him, letting go of his shoulder with what feels like relief.  
  
"So what? He's into chasing straight girls?" He asks, long fingers wrapping round another shot, Mac flips his hand casually, shooting Dennis a completely serious look.  
  
"Charlie's not gay," he says, because it's clearly obvious that neither of them are.

At this point he doesn't really know what lie he's spinning, to himself or Dennis. His excitement and the spirits he’s drinking have got him pretty confused. Suddenly he finds Dennis up close, he's slipped out of his stool to stand over Mac, close enough Mac can smell his heady cologne.  
  
"Are you sure?" Dennis growls out, low in his throat. Combined with his close proximity, Mac feels a shameful rush of heat between his thighs. They both know that question isn't directed at Charlie. Mac's too confused and caught off guard to formulate an answer, even to himself at this moment in time. He can't say he hasn't always been curious. That he hasn't kissed other guys before or jerked off Charlie when they've both been completely whacked out on glue. And Dennis is a good looking guy who is way, way out of his league. He's not sure this opportunity will come round again.  
  
Mac sits there dumbstruck, and that's enough of an answer for Dennis who grabs his forearm, leaning in impossibly close to his ear.  
  
"Let me suck you off.”

Mac's brown eyes blow wide open as the whole interaction just went from 0 - 60, real quick. He leans back further from Dennis, but he can’t stop how the room sways a little and his pulse quickens, beating against Dennis' clutch. He can see the other man now, eyes eating him up like he's a slab of meat. Mac's not going to lie, that stare and those pink lips make him feel pretty eager to agree.  
  
But when Dennis starts to move, pulling him in the direction of the club toilets, Mac feels himself digging his feet in a little, nerves attacking him.  
  
"Uhhh, don't you want to dance first?" He asks, forcing a strained smile. Clearly Dennis does not want to dance, the look on his face says he just wants to get into Mac's pants. But then his eyes flick to the dance floor, up and down Mac's body, and he plasters a predatory grin to his face.  
  
"Sure," he replies smoothly and Mac breathes a sigh of relief. He feels like he wasn't quite ready for that.  
  
The two make their way over to the dance floor, pushing in-between bodies to find space, which they do near a wall and a set of lights, amongst other moving bodies. The beat of the music thumps overhead relentlessly, as they both begin to move.  
  
It takes Dennis roughly thirty seconds to work out that Mac does not have even the slightest bit of talent when it comes to dancing. That's fine, he quickly wraps two hands around the others neck, pulling them flush against each other. He works Mac like a pole, grinding against him with the beat.

Mac is initially startled at the sudden invasion of his personal space, he quickly panics and wonders if Charlie can see but a quick scope around tells him that they're too deep in the crowd for anyone to notice, even God. No inhibitions, no fear, just two more bodies lost in a tide. He represses moans as the hips grinding determined against his dick start to make him hard. He's suddenly so aware of the advantage of having a dance partner the same height as him, all those short girls could never have fitted against him as perfectly as this. Eventually the rhythm literally rubs off on him from Dennis and he finds courage to hold Dennis' tiny waistline, and suddenly they're both pressed up against each other, slowly forcing each other into further arousal. This is so, so gay, a tiny voice in Mac's head screams, but it's drowned out like a teacher trying to silence her class of shrieking unruly students. Mac can hear the voice in his head, it just doesn’t seem so important right now in contrast to the euphoric feeling he’s getting up against Dennis.

He finds beyond the thumping of the club music and the occasional flash of lights illuminating Dennis' face that he couldn't care less about anything else in or outside of the club. Mac is distantly aware he’s very drunk, but he doesn’t really care. He feels so alive, chasing the exciting promise of sex had never been this much fun with a woman. Then he feels lips against his own and a tongue probing into his mouth, before he knows it they're making out and his back has hit a wall, his hands pinned at his sides.

Dennis is good at kissing, and Mac reciprocates with desperate urgency. When Dennis eventually pulls away, a triumphant look is on his face, looking like the cat that got the cream. He whirls round and presses backwards into Mac, the smooth curves of his ass grinding insistently up on the outline of Mac's dick. Mac is unable to stop the groan this time.

“Oh shit,” he says softly, feeling Dennis snaking his hips low, before slut dropping and grinding his way back up again, sinfully slow. Mac has to bite his lip as he watches, completely entranced. Dennis rolls back round on his body, so close they can both feel each other throbbing through their jeans. His eyes glint with a mischievous darkness, as Mac looks back on at him with his mouth dropped slightly open. It's at this moment Mac's brain seems to catch up with him and point out that yeah, Dennis is actually the fucking devil incarnate. Completely irresistible - that's what Mac can tell himself in the morning. Dennis leans forward; his breath now hot on Mac's ear.  
  
"You wanna get out of here?" He asks, sucking a kiss just below Mac's ear lobe as the latter shivers and nods in agreement. He lets Dennis lead him out into the street. Unable to keep their hands off each other, they make out in the back of the cab home. Dennis pulls Mac into his lap, whispering filthy promises in his ear.  
  
Mac wakes up the next day in his bed. His head is throbbing and his body aches with an exhaustion like nothing he's felt before. He blearily looks round his room, feeling comforted with the familiarity before flopping back down again and snuggling himself against the pillow. He reaches for his phone on the bedside table and checks the messages; he's shocked to see what comes up on the screen.  
  
Charlie (34 Missed Calls)  
  
Charlie (16 Unread Messages)  
  
That's weird. Then Mac is hit with a wave of nausea as the events of last night come back to him, horrifically vivid phantom lips and hips are pressing up against his body.

He curls himself up into a ball which only serves to make the pain in his lower back worse and his Irish Catholic guilt hit him like the lash of a hunting crop. Not again. In the sober light of day the pain of his actions returns to him.

His mind quickly thinks of Dennis and he sits up straight in bed, rapidly searching the room for any sign of him; ignoring how the whole world seems to be falling off its axis. He jumps out of bed and rips off the duvet, as if Dennis would be able to hide beneath it. There's nobody under there, except Mac can see there's some small droplets of blood and a few large cum stains embedded in his sheets.

Mac feels like he’s on fire, images of last night playing through his mind. Every time he blinks he has Dennis’ naked body and abs lasered into the reverse of his eyelids. Breathy moans echo round his head, his mind replaying them from recent memory. He inhales, his room reeks of sex and feels his hands tightly pulling through his hair as he tries to remember how to breathe.  
  
Unable to bare being in his shame pit of a room any longer and feeling a little sick he dashes to his en suite. He flips on the light and the cold tap, splashing gratuitous amounts of water into his face. As he lowers his hands he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He stares back at himself for a good thirty seconds before he freaks out at the bite marks and hickeys around his neck. Panicking he looks down his body and sees they're pretty much littered all over, a few bruises on his thighs and hips. His hands trace over them, some of them he can remember, shamefully giving life to his morning wood. Then he sees his fingernails are dirty, he brings them up into the light, noticing that it’s dried blood; most likely Dennis'.  
  
"Oh god," Mac murmurs, unable to stop himself, seeing something else on his skin. Only this time it's writing and it goes all the way up his forearm. It's a phone number and a name written in black permanent marker.

Dennis Reynolds. XXX-XXX-XXXX. Call me.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during my exam season because I wanted to go out so I made Mac and Dennis go for me. 
> 
> FEW RANDOM AFTER NOTES bc I have nobody else to tell these to;  
> -I almost made Dennis into a klub kid with a crop top and tight jeans. Bc I really think Dennis should wear crop tops.  
> -thanks to brandy for the grinding prompt lol honestly I would have left that out?! Idk what's wrong with me for not thinking of it???


End file.
